Sectumsempra
by ASHburgers
Summary: Harry Chased after Malfoy from the Great Hall. He was sure the hexing of Katie Bell was the Slytherin's doing. With wand ready at arms, Harry prepared to confront the silver haired fox...only what he found in the bathrooms beyond the stone corridors cut through his chest deeper than he ever imagined.


_Sectumsempra_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor have rights to those featured in the Harry Potter universe. All rights are reserved to J.K. Rowling_

 _A/N ***One-Shot: HarryXDraco. Possible romance story to develop from this, though it would take place with characters of legal age_

 _Summary: Harry Chased after Malfoy from the Great Hall. He was sure the hexing of Katie Bell was the Slytherin's doing. With wand ready at arms, Harry prepared to confront the silver haired fox...only what he found in the bathrooms beyond the stone corridors cut through his chest deeper than he ever imagined._

* * *

It all happened in such quick moments. Even a time turner wouldn't be sure how far to go to catch each detail.

Would it be back to the hasty blur of Harry's brief words with Katie Bell? Or maybe you would have to go to Katie _pleading_ reassurance to Harry that she was unaware of who hexed her? Harry, of course, strained to believe her.

There was also the moment Katie's eye's locked on a body behind Harry...

Perhaps the best bet was to find when Harry's view shifted to see where Katie's stare had gone, finding the silver haired Slytherin prince a few feet away at the end of the Great Hall. Draco's eyes were wide, he seemed to be slightly shaking, and he appeared exposed far beyond what one might expect during this evenings dinner.

* * *

Draco sprinted through the doors of the Great Hall, making a clumsy exit.

" _Fuck."_ he thought to himself. A pang of dread pinched at his chest, causing his right hand to shoot to the spot his tie was fastened, attempting to loosen the constricting grip at his throat. His other hand rummaged through his blonde strands of hair, attempting to comb them back for comfort. He was tempted to glance back...beyond the beating in his chest he could almost make out faint thuds behind him.

Those didn't compare to the pounding of his heart.

The pang at his chest didn't surprise Draco. These feelings of regret and fear had ever slowly begun to engulf him from stomach to chest since he took the dark mark.

His nose crinkled at the thought, a familiar look of Malfoy disgust playing across his features.

" _Took?"_

" **No."** he mumbled through fiercely gritted teeth, brows furrowed in aguish.

The fumbling wizard felt his lungs burn as he paced the halls and dimly lit stone corridors searching for Myrtle's bathroom. Ironically, it had become a safe place since withdrawing from his old life at Hogwarts. Students were known to avoid Myrtle and her incessant wailing, but it was the only company Draco had.

This year there were no troves of Slytherin followers, no time to taut his advanced skills in potions, no purpose to carve an identity for himself ever since-

Pulled from thought, Draco looked down at his arm, currently covered by the long sleeve of his white button down shirt. His shirts always covered his arms now, but they couldn't conceal the shame he felt beneath the cloth.

Draco never _took_ the disgusting misshapen blotch that seared his flesh. With eyes fiercely closed, relying on the familiarity of the castle steps as his guide, Draco thought back to the night it happened. A gathering of darkly cloaked figures in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, once a safe place, if one could imagine. As a child he would playfully practice charms with his mother, both bathed in sunlight from the massive silver gilded windows. The iron wrought fireplace exuded warmth during snow laden Winters when he would drink warm pumpkin juice. The Manor was beautiful in it's own gothic fashion.

Despite his current panic, Draco couldn't help but let the ghost of a smirk play across his face at the benevolent thought.

The Manor was even better when his father wasn't home. That was when the family, servants, even the bloody house elves felt at peace. In those scarce moments of peace, he never hesitated to extend an invitation to Blaise, Pansy, and those simpletons Crabbe and Goyle. During the effortless summers of first and second year they would roam the grounds eating stashes of candy hidden in cupboards from previous Honeydukes rounds, play Qudditch on the massive lawn, just being normal kids...whatever normal was for a pack of haughty Slytherins.

But that was before... _he_ came back.

Even now the thought was enough to elicit a clenched fist from Draco, finger nails digging into the soft flesh.

That was also before Malfoy Manor, now a stark contrast from those sun-bathed days, was shrouded in darkness as death eaters gathered chanting their adoration for hexes and unforgivable curses.

At the present, Draco's thoughts shifted back to the night he was marked. With eyes now open he could sense the numbness washing over, his face loosing any signs of emotions.

Lucius Malfoy was the _noble_ death eater who volunteered his only son to _take_ the dark mark, a grand act of devotion to set him apart from all other death eaters no doubt. Lucius of course did this despite his wife's fierce protests. Neither she nor Draco had ever really mattered to him anyway. Merely pure blood accessories used to elevate his status.

A momentary break from the memories found Draco swallowing hard, his mouth already equitably dry from his quick pace.

Then the flashbacks hit.

Narcissa was held down by other cloaked figures on her knees by an elegant divan that formerly sat her and Draco. Her typically perfect hair a tangled mess around her tear stained face, no denying the resemblance to her twisted sister. Her delicate hands outstretched and reaching for her son, her only son, being dragged off.

" _HE'S JUST A BOY"_ the once proud matriarch wailed. But her cries fell on careless ears.

Draco was pulled away roughly and brought to three cloaked figures a few feet away. He was difficult to push, but didn't dare overtly struggle less he upset the death eaters and risk a hex to his mother who was left behind. It was only when he felt Lucius's cold serpentine hands tightly wrapped upon his arm that he gazed away from his mother's fading view to his father. The man looked like a coward as he held Draco's moonlit arm in place. Bruises already starting to form.

The second cloak was that of his deranged aunt with a wisp in her eye and cackle upon her lips clenching onto the shoulder of the creature she adored. That creature was the third cloak. Voldemort.

Draco's face tightened in pain at the remembrance.

Another involuntary flashback brought him to the moment he locked eyes with Voldemort. The dark lord had a stoic expression on his face and spoke in barely a whisper.

" _Young, Draco. There is nothing to fear. Your servitude will ensure your family be_... _honored_."

The dark lord drew a flick of his wand that expelled a green light so powerful that it burned through Draco's skin with the force of a Hungarian Horntail's fire breath. He twisted his head in pain and gritted his teeth, stifling the yearning scream in his throat, writhing as his arm was firmly held in place by his own father.

The power that emitted from the wand was more painful than anything Draco had ever experienced in Defense Against the Dark Arts duels.

Continuing his pace, he let of a sarcastic snort at that thought. How there was no defense at that moment of vulnerability when the dark arts were upon him in his own home.

Truth be told, he had vehemently fought the tears from the excruciating pain applied to both the moon kissed skin of his inner arm and his once tender heart. Sure, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors alike would argue it's existence, but Draco _did_ have a heart. It began to grow larger as he was exposed to other students and muggle-born professors alike. Even bloody Moaning Myrtle had started to grow on Draco and she wasn't even alive. _Taking_ the dark mark implied he wanted to hurt people...to kill people... all in the name of a hideous creature who threatened the lives of not only himself, but also his mother. The one person who believed there was _good_ in Draco.

" _What must she be thinking of me now?"_

Draco was torn from his thoughts momentarily as he found his way up the stairs nearing the bathroom. His vest clinging to his shirt clearly wet from adrenaline.

 _Taking_ the mark also meant exiling himself from the one person he had been infatuated with since he entered Hogwarts. The one half blood that started to make him doubt his father's ridiculous obsession with blood purity, the boy who matched Draco in Qudditch, acted with bravery when Draco himself struggled to grasp the concept, and helped Draco refine his wit, determination, and sarcasm with each heated, albeit _passionate_ , confrontation.

And familiar warmth resonated in his chest. One that followed annoyance at Draco's perceived _weakness_.

* * *

 **Draco Malfoy** never _hated_ **Harry Potter**. What he hated was how much the raven-haired, boy wonder, bloody chosen git could make him _feel._

Through all the teasing and competition, Draco found himself, dare he say, _admiring_ Harry. What Draco mastered in terms of self-preservation, Harry matched in bravery. The fool was too stubborn to see the danger in saving Hogwarts year after year that Draco did. At first, Draco pitied him for it. Thought Potter was mad and there was no use wasting perfect sense on a madman. That was until enough exposure to this infectious excuse for a wizard led Draco to attempt to _understand_ Harry's need to help others, despite their blood status...despite their faults.

" _Are you alright, Malfoy?"_ Harry covering him during their violent Qudditch match second year.

" _You deserved that, but I hope this helps"_ Harry visiting Draco in the infirmary after his brief time as a ferret, offering a flask of warmed butterbeer with good intention and a half hearted smirk.

" _I...I'm sorry...about your father"_ A firm statement when Draco was alone in the dungeons. It was after Harry confirmed Lucius involvement with the attack at the ministry, no less. If only Harry knew how much he wanted his father imprisoned, even if it meant the unwanted notoriety as a death eater's son, even if it couldn't bring back Harry's beloved godfather.

It's a shame Lucius even got out...

Potter's effects had stirred a change in Draco long before the last memory. In fact, Draco had told his father to spare the damn Hippogriff that nearly chewed his arm off third year because of Harry's soft held empathy for the animal. Hell, even Granger's punch to the face knocked some sense into him. Draco started to appreciate the smart-ass muggle-born. He wanted to see what Harry could in people...something more than breed.

That's where the trouble started. Not only did Lucius want the Hippogriff executed immediately, he began to force Draco to attend his... _meetings_.

And the rest, they say, is history.

Draco felt another surge of pain in his chest as he reached the bathroom.

In a panic, he threw off his vest, feeling the sweat that had soaked his shirt through, making it cling to his lean frame. Perhaps too lean...

With one hand he combed his fingers through the messy mop of hair that was equally beaded with sweat, the other free hand found him turning the faucet of a sink in front of him. Draco attempted to wash his face to cool down, but stopped as he looked up at his reflection, if you could even call it that, in the blurry mirror. Eyes red, face thin due to his lack of eating these days, skin grey...

Who was this person?

Draco's mind wandered again. Three years later from trying to save a bloody hawk horse...foolishly thinking he could earn a place in Potter's court...had found himself branded as a death eater, hexing students at the order of demented wizards and witches, with Ha- no, **Potter** and the bloody Order of the Phoenix as his enemies.

The stress of his fucked up life had taken its toll.

Draco whimpered and shook violently grasping the white sink, his knuckles turning red, head down in defeat.

* * *

Harry chased after Malfoy from the great hall. If he hadn't been so fixed on catching up with his target, perhaps he would have noticed the tension in Draco's stride, how he fidgeted with his tie and seemed to half glance back every few moments, never long enough to truly be seen by the boy who lived.

Harry was heaving as he ran to make up the distance between him and Malfoy. A strong feeling of adrenaline tainted with spite surged through his veins. He could feel the wand at his arm pulsing with magic, sensing his anger.

" _How could you be so stupid, Harry?"_ he internally berated himself.

" _This is Malfoy...it's always been him... What did you expect!?"_ The last portion felt like a scream through his mind.

The look Malfoy gave him at the Great Hall flashed in his head. It was something Harry didn't recognize and that unsettled him. Usually all it took was a glance Malfoy's way and he could tell if the other had been cocky, determined, annoyed, even hurt that usually came laced with a prideful stance in his demeanor. Draco was always too proud to let his feelings be known for long. Something Harry wished he could gain trust to.

That look in the Great Hall seemed to signal that long gone was the Malfoy haughtiness that Harry had become accustomed to throughout their years together-

 _Together..._

Harry clutched his chest with his free hand. Had there ever been such a time?

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, continuing his rapid pace. Flashbacks from the past six years of his encounters with Malfoy played through his head like a picture show.

" _Didn't mommy ever tell you it was rude to ease drop potter? "_

" _What I tell you? Total nutter!"_

 _Draco looking smug a top a tree in the courtyard followed by an annoyingly adorable stint as a ferret._

" _Dementor Dementor!" Draco mocking Harry followed by the sounds of Slytherins joining in with laughter._

 _The duel their second year._

" _Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.." the extension of a hand his very first year._

It sounds masochistic, but in truth Harry felt the most _alive_ when in those heated moments with the serpent prince. Malfoy was the only one who knew how to light a fire under Harry. Making him feel confident, despite the fighting and the insults. There was a spark he felt whenever in the same room as Malfoy and its what kept him going...proving himself throughout the years.

And if he wasn't _completely_ daft, he could almost feel that Malfoy felt the same too.

Harry shook his head as if to shake himself free from these memories and their constricting grip on him.

Even with Malfoy's constant taunts, Harry did notice that Mal- **Draco** , was hiding something...something tender and caring and a piece Harry just knew existed beneath all the bloody hell he put him through.

 _Draco, looking over to Harry during Professor's Sprouts class, nudging him to wear his earmuffs to conceal the Mandrake's cry._

 _Draco, unabashed and grabbing Harry's wrist in the forbidden forest during their "detention" pulling the boy who lived past the dark and out of harms way._

 _Draco, looking pained at the delivery of the news that Buckbeak was to be executed._

 _Draco, fearful and panicked during the raid at the Qudditch World Cup_ _ **until**_ _his eyes locked on Harry, safe with Hermione and Ron._

 _Draco, charming a note to flutter over to Harry his fifth year after...after Sirius's death...and when Harry named Lucius Malfoy to the ministry._

" _Thank you"_

 _Draco had quietly slipped in darkness before Harry could call out to him after reading the enchanted note._

A familiar wetness formed in Harry's eyes...but Harry shook his head and adjusted his glasses upon his face.

" _No."_ Harry mentally scolded himself. It was a half-hearted scold, but served its purpose nonetheless.

A handful of redeeming moments didn't make up for the fact that Dra- **Malfoy** hexed an innocent person and was no doubt, working for death eaters...for Voldemort...just like his spineless father.

Harry sharply inhaled, discarding any early feelings of sympathy or compassion for the haunted Slytherin and made his way to the bathroom where he saw his former classmate and rival slip in.

His wand grasped tightly in his hand, twitching once more with enraged magic that wouldn't be shaken off this time.

* * *

When he finally caught up with the young wizard, Harry froze.

There was the person he'd been obsessed with since the moment he met him six years ago, only a bit taller... still twistedly...darkly handsome...and yet, looking broken all at once.

A thump in his heart hit again. That damn curse only Draco could cast.

Harry lowered his wand and slightly inched closer. His breathes beginning to slow.

No snark, no pride, no typical confidence that would admittedly make Harry jump with excitement. Draco was just a defeated soul...difficult to recognize, hunched frame with his back towards Harry and a glaring look in the mirror.

He didn't know why, but Harry felt a knot in his stomach. Still...this had to be done. Feigning confidence, he drew his wand steadily with the knot in his stomach churning its way closer to agony, and pointed it to the pale body in front of him.

"I know what you did Malfoy."

Draco turned around in a clumsy fashion. His hair drenched with sweat and the look of panic twisted with...fear? No, not fear...utter damnation, Harry thought to himself as he stared down the sunken form in front of him.

This was new for Draco. Harry had seen fear on him when Buckbeak took a chunk out of his arm third year. He had seen embarrassment and shame whenever Draco was in the presence of his bastard of a death eater father, but Harry could hardly recognize this broken soul quaking in front of him, a discarded vest to the floor, and an overflow of water pouring from Draco's abandoned sink.

It didn't matter.

Harry watched as a silent hex was impulsively cast in his direction.

* * *

Draco glared at the image in the mirror and for a second, he felt those damn sparks again. The same sparks from his childhood. The ones that consumed his chest like a thousand fluttering golden snitches, evading sight or at least attempting to.

 _" **Harry fucking Potter** **."** _it was a mute whisper only Draco could hear.

But as he continued to glare...his eyes slowly began to soften. There was something on Harry's face. Could it be...no...maybe...maybe there was a hint of _concern_?

Thoughts of Potter caring about him...even as he was now, defeated and lost...it gave him a warmth that tore through his chest yearning to fill his body. Draco relinquished in the mixed feeling it produced of hate of himself for allowing Potter to have this effect on him and of ecstasy that even in this shit hole, he mattered to Harry.

But they are in the middle of a war and Draco is on the wrong side. He didn't deserve the short-lived bliss.

"I know what you did Malfoy."

Harry broke the silence and Draco could have sworn a piece of him that still clung to hope had shattered as well.

A cruel wrenching feeling had taken over and Draco felt his face contort in a sadistic expression of rage.

Potter wasn't here to save him. He was here to save the day.

Anger propelled Draco to spin forward and silently cast a rather harsh disarming hex. Something he picked up from training with Bellatrix.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, mouth agape.

" _How did Draco learn to do that?"_ He wondered silently as he leapt out of the way of the hex, tumbling to the floor, giving his elbow a rather jarring bounce on the hard tile.

He winced in pain, but rolled to his side awkwardly aiming an expelliarmus to disarm his lost boy.

Flashes of green and red illuminated the room.

" _You fucking idiot"_ Draco internally screamed yet he was heaving and near sobs as he dodged an expelliarmus from Harry, diving behind one of the bathroom stalls.

" _You could have HURT him. Why are you doing this?"_ more of his self-anguish

He tried to shoot out another hex from behind the stall in Harry's general direction, but his hand was thwarted back from a jinx and hit the stall door, causing him to rip his arm away, tearing his sleeve on exposed wood and revealing a cut from the flying porcelain above his dark mark.

"BOYS. BOYS. STOP THIS!"

Moaning Myrtle's familiar shrill was piercing through the clamor of hexes and jinxes both Draco and Harry were flinging at each other.

"PLEASE PLAY NICE. DRACO!"

Myrtle circled the top of the bathroom flying past Harry to find where Draco had been hiding, but was only met with a blast of red from Draco's wand, clumsily searching for it's target.

"MERLIN'S BEARD, WHAT THE HELL DID I DO TO YOU?"

And with a sharp exhale she flew from the bathroom in search of someone to actually stop this madness. Myrtle left a ghostly trail of blue in her wake and as usual, neither of the dueling wizards noticed.

* * *

 _"This is it"_ Harry thought to himself as he crouched behind a toilet, wand to his chest, tears in his eyes.

Shards of porcelain struck by spells had littered the floor and he felt blood trickle from his forehead as well as the torn cloth on his left knee, jagged fragments from the demolished sinks and tile as the culprit.

As his eyes wandered to what was left of the stall door to his right, he noticed the pale bare arm clenching to the edge of the stall from beind, attempting to steady himself.

Draco's shirt was ripped and there were trickles of blood sliding down his arm too, drawing attention to a rather large bruise...no...skull that Draco had embedded on his skin.

Harry's eyes enlarged and he felt his heart sink.

Draco _took_ the dark mark. There was no denying it. He was one of t _hem_. A pure-blood death eater. There was no other explanation for this person...this fierce un-caged animal that was attacking Harry. The Draco he knew must have died when the dark mark was born to his flesh.

Almost instinctually Harry felt himself growl out with anger towards the only one who could so vilely mutilate his beautiful counterpart: Voldemort.

Suddenly, this duel didn't matter...the bloody war didn't matter...all that Harry could feel was hatred for the creature that had taken his parents, Sirius, and now...

" **I HATE him!"**

Excruciatingly long minutes of silence save for the water pouring out from broken faucets and the panting breaths in the room.

It was a true Gryffindor roar and Draco felt the stall shake as he continued to grip it for support. Draco was dazed and exhausted, but he couldn't help ponder at Potter's words.

" _Him?"_ He thought. But he was swiftly grasped away from his confusion when he heard the Gryffindor roar again, although with less force.

" **Malfoy!"** Harry called out to Draco who was still partially hidden by the splintered stall door.

But Harry's call was only met with silence.

" _What is he doing?"_ Draco pondered with a furrowed brow.

Harry slowly stood up, though in a clear limp from the bleeding gash on his knee. He knew calling out to Draco would reveal his location, and yet there were no spells flying his way.

With another huff of breath and a bit of blind faith, Harry called out decibels lower.

"Draco..."

* * *

He closed his eyes. Harry's voice felt soothing against the pounding in his head. It called to him from the destruction and all he wanted was for that strong and compassionate voice to lull him to sleep. Maybe never wake up. That would be easier for everyone.

"Draco...I _know_ you hear me. You aren't hexing me so you must be listening."

A gentle inhale of air and Draco coyly opened his eyes, taking in the scene instead of darkness.

Harry went on.

"Draco...you don't have to do this. I know you hexed Katie."

" _Correct, boy wonder."_ Draco bemused to himself.

"Maybe you feel like you HAD to..." Harry's voice waivered with a tinge of uncertainty.

" _Of course I had to. You don't understand..."_ Draco felt himself contemplate, shifting his gaze up to the ceiling. He hadn't noticed how high the ceiling was before. No wonder Myrtle loved making bounds across this place.

"But I promise if you talk to me...we can fight _him_. It isn't too late."

There it was, the soothing care in Harry's voice. Perhaps it was exhaustion. The overwhelming physical pain, mental drain, as well as emotional fatigue Draco had been sporting for months...but damn it, he wanted the warmth Harry was selling. He _craved_ it.

The tears started flowing and Draco hated that he could be reduced to this by Harry Potter's voice alone. Mustering what strength he could, Draco finally ended his silent vow.

"I...I'm just...so tired..." his hoarse voice called beyond the stall.

Draco wearily stumbled as he attempted to move out of his spot behind the stall door remnants, finally falling to the floor with a resounding thud. He dropped his wand, which had felt so heavy earlier, and it rolled off nearing the spot that Potter's voice had been coming from. All Draco could do was hold his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, sobs erupting from the crumpled wizard on the ground.

Harry couldn't believe it. His silver fox wasn't gone...he was just lost.

Harry limped through the rubble, stopping to pick up Draco's wand, storing it in his back pocket just for additional safety.

Draco was rocking back and forth, his head in his hands, sobbing. The compulsion to touch this wounded prince proved too much for Harry and he gently knelt in front of the Slytherin, reaching a hand out to softly lie on his back.

"Draco...I'm here..." Harry cooed.

When he didn't feel resistance, Harry summoned that Gryffindor courage and allowed his arms to wrap around Draco, engulfing him in a warm embrace, chin over Draco's shoulder while his hand rubbed light circles on his back.

After some time in silence, Draco mustered up the strength to speak.

"W-why?"

His sobbing had stopped, but his breathing hadn't paced yet to a comfortable rhythm and he still couldn't bring himself to look directly at Harry, instead choosing to shuffle back a bit and lean his damp head on Potter's shoulder, still allowing Harry's arm to snake its way past his hip, pulling him closer in a side position. Both boys relying on the fragmented stall for back support.

All Harry could do was toss his head back, close his eyes, and allow a miniature smile to play across his lips. He needed some lightness, a calm from the storm that had just passed.

"Well, I thought of cursing you, but I'm not sure we'd be having this moment if I did."

And Harry was telling the truth. There was a moment he almost called out the curse in his newly found potions book.

 _Sectumsempra_...

Meaning something along the lines of tearing skin? Hermione would have known the precise definition. Harry restrained himself in that moment. There had been enough cuts, bruises, tears, pain...Harry couldn't bring himself to inflict anymore, especially not on this... _death eater._

Harry shuddered at the thought, remembering the dark mark on Draco's arm.

Movement shifted his attention. Harry felt Draco's head turn down, almost burying himself in his shoulder.

"You should have done it."

And Draco truly believed it...what good was he to anyone?

In one swift motion, Harry maneuvered himself to face the torn wizard once more. He grasped Draco's faintly scratched chin, forcing the boy to look into his deep green eyes.

Draco could see that familiar fire in them and he felt a flighty feeling in his chest that brought on the sensation of warmth again...sweet sun-lit warmth.

The perfect blend of innocence.

"Don't you **ever** believe that..."

Harry spoke with such strong conviction. A look of pure seriousness and Draco knew that these were not the type of words spoken from thin air merely to console another person. Harry whole-heartedly believed them.

Draco silently noted how Harry always had a way of doing that. Speaking with such assurance that it became contagious to everyone else.

"We **can** survive this. We can **defeat** him."

Harry was a lion, but Draco...what was he? A snake?

"Yeah?" Draco found strength in his voice again. "How do you reckon that?"

Frustration bubbled to the surface. How was he going to defeat Lord Voldemort?

"He's got my mother! You may not have met yours but I DON'T want to loose MINE!"

And yes, Draco's words stung Harry, but he knew that this was the moment to capitalize on the return of his dragon spirit.

Matching the intensity of Draco's gaze he grasped his shoulders and bellowed back.

"AND YOU KNOW MORE ABOUT HIM THAN ANY OF US. YOU KNOW HIS WEAKNESSES! HIS PLANS!"

Draco's expression changed from uncertain fierceness to bewilderment.

It was true...

Draco Malfoy knew everything Harry Potter and the bloody Order of the Phoenix needed to gain the upper hand in this war. He had eaten, plotted, and trained with death eaters all Summer long. He heard mumblings of _Horcruxes_. He knew how important Nagini was to Voldemort. For the first time in a long while, Draco had the _power._

The surprise of a cool sensation of skin on skin struck Draco's forehead. A hand grabbing the back of Draco's head, tangling fingers into his hair.

"We can save the lot of them...your mother and the others."

And Draco's heart began to calm again at Harry's trance inducing voice, lulling him to close his eyes and believe. He welcomed it when Harry mewed again.

"We are stronger _together._ "

Draco's grey eyes fluttered to once again meet the fire in Harry's emeralds.

"We can beat him."

* * *

And that was how Dumbledore found them.

Bodies entwined together. Water sputtering from blown sinks, debris scattered across the tile. Mixing of dust and blood across splintered stalls. Moaning Myrtle was by the headmaster's side, yet even she was at a loss for words, but Albus knew better.

If there were any hope for the young Malfoy, for any of them really, it would have to come from a package that Voldemort himself could never break through.

One that he could never understand nor _feel-_

love.


End file.
